


Heart of White

by bleuetfane



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Mild Gore, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuetfane/pseuds/bleuetfane
Summary: Commander Wolffe wanders a forest in search of answers.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Heart of White

**Author's Note:**

> this work features blood and animal gore, as well as time warps, so please be careful if that’s something triggering for you.
> 
> i hope you enjoy 🤍

Ice is cracking with his every step. The woods are deep and silent, cold and lifeless. He’s been walking for hours, maybe days, he isn’t sure. The sun hasn’t risen in what seemed like years; every minute is growing darker, seemingly endlessly, but never reaching complete black. He’s there alone, he knows that, he hasn’t seen a life of any sort since he got here; yet there are footprints in the snow, following him, and he’s being watched, he’s certain of it. He adjusts the bag he’s carrying. It’s heavy, too heavy, and he doesn’t exactly remember what’s inside, or how he go it; he’s sure he checked some time ago, but he doesn’t remember. 

He doesn’t remember much of anything, to be frank. He doesn’t remember how we got here, or where he was, or why he was here. He didn’t remember where he came from, or where he was going, or how long he’s been here. All he remembers is the sound of ice cracking under his boots and the footprints and the weight of the bag. 

Who was he before this place? He’s sure he asked himself that question many times before, yet it feels brand new. Thoughts of movement and sounds and figures plague his mind yet he can never make out what they are; he doesn’t know if they’re memories or delusions. For all he knew, this is all he ever was. This is all life can be.

The footprints are stained red now. Something has changed. It’s not darker, nor is the sun coming up, but his ears are filled with incessant screams of sonic boom. A familiar sound, somehow. He heard it before. He doesn’t remember.  
It grows and grows but never reaches its crescendo. He’s been hearing it for hours. 

The sound was always here.

The footprints have stopped. He knows it without having to turn around; he never looked back. The itch to turn his head has always been there, but he could never satisfy it.  
He did now. 

In the cold coat of white, in the pure silent ice, lays a dead wolf. It’s fur covered in red ice, crystallised blood, it lays in a clearing between the trees he’s certain he didn’t reach before. He feels something on his cheek, it burns like plasma held to the skin - he touches his face, his hand draws back red. The wolves’ fur is clean now.  
There’s a sharp pang in his eye, and suddenly he cannot see anymore. Half of his vision blurred by the darkness of void.  
The wolves head is half exposed skull now. 

He’s on his knees now, crawling towards the dead animal. He doesn’t know why, his arm stretches out to touch the bare bone - then all goes quiet again, and a bright light flashes across his vision-

Ice is cracking with his every step. The woods are deep and silent, cold and lifeless. He’s been walking for hours, maybe days, he isn’t sure.


End file.
